War And Peace: Book 8 - CHAPTER XV

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ON RETURNING LATE in the evening, Sonya went into Natasha's room, and to her

surprise found her not undressed asleep on the sofa. On the table near her

Anatole's letter lay open. Sonya picked up the letter and began to read

it.

She read it, and looked at Natasha asleep, seeking in her face some

explanation of what she had read and not finding it. Her face was quiet, gentle,

and happy. Clutching at her own chest to keep herself from choking, Sonya, pale

and shaking with horror and emotion, sat down in a low chair and burst into

tears.

“How was it I saw nothing? How can it have gone so far? Can she have ceased

loving Prince Andrey? And how could she have let this Kuragin go as far as this?

He's a deceiver and a villain, that's clear. What will Nikolenka—dear, noble

Nikolenka—do when he hears of it? So that was the meaning of her excited,

determined, unnatural face the day before yesterday, and yesterday and to-day,”

thought Sonya. “But it's impossible that she can care for him! Most likely she

opened the letter not knowing from whom it was. Most likely she feels insulted

by it. She's not capable of doing such a thing!”

Sonya dried her tears and went up to Natasha, carefully scrutinising her face

again.

“Natasha!” she said, hardly audibly.

Natasha waked up and saw Sonya.

“Ah, you have come back?”

And with the decision and tenderness common at the moment of awakening she

embraced her friend. But noticing embarrassment in Sonya's face, her face too

expressed embarrassment and suspicion.

“Sonya, you have read the letter?” she said.

“Yes,” said Sonya softly.

Natasha smiled ecstatically.

“No, Sonya, I can't help it!” she said. “I can't keep it secret from you any

longer. You know we love each other! … Sonya, darling, he writes … Sonya

…”

Sonya gazed with wide-open eyes at Natasha, as though unable to believe her

ears.

“But Bolkonsky?” she said.

“O Sonya, oh, if you could only know how happy I am!” said Natasha. “You

don't know what love …”

“But, Natasha, you can't mean that all that is over?”

Natasha looked with her big, wide eyes at Sonya as though not understanding

her question.

“Are you breaking it off with Prince Andrey then?” said Sonya.

“Oh, you don't understand; don't talk nonsense; listen,” said Natasha, with

momentary annoyance.

“No, I can't believe it,” repeated Sonya. “I don't understand it. What, for a

whole year you have been loving one man, and all at once … Why, you have only

seen him three times. Natasha, I can't believe you, you're joking. In three days

to forget everything, and like this …”

“Three days,” said Natasha. “It seems to me as though I had loved him for a

hundred years. It seems to me that I have never loved any one before him. You

can't understand that. Sonya, stay, sit here.” Natasha hugged and kissed her. “I

have been told of its happening, and no doubt you have heard of it too, but it's

only now that I have felt such love. It's not what I have felt before. As soon

as I saw him, I felt that he was my sovereign and I was his slave, and that I

could not help loving him. Yes, his slave! Whatever he bids me, I shall do. You

don't understand that. What am I to do? What am I to do, Sonya?” said Natasha,

with a blissful and frightened face.

“But only think what you are doing,” said Sonya. “I can't leave it like this.

These secret letters … How could you let him go so far as that?” she said, with

a horror and aversion she could with difficulty conceal.

“I have told you,” answered Natasha, “that I have no will. How is it you

don't understand that? I love him!”

“Then I can't let it go on like this. I shall tell about it,” cried Sonya

with a burst of tears.

“What … for God's sake … If you tell, you are my enemy,” said Natasha. “You

want to make me miserable, and you want us to be separated…”

On seeing Natasha's alarm, Sonya wept tears of shame and pity for her

friend.

“But what has passed between you?” she asked. “What has he said to you? Why

doesn't he come to the house?”

Natasha made no answer to her question.

“For God's sake, Sonya, don't tell any one; don't torture me,” Natasha

implored her. “Remember that it doesn't do to meddle in such matters. I have

told you …”

“But why this secrecy? Why doesn't he come to the house?” Sonya persisted.

“Why doesn't he ask for your hand straight out? Prince Andrey, you know, gave

you complete liberty, if it really is so; but I can't believe in it. Natasha,

have you thought what the secret reasons can be?”

Natasha looked with wondering eyes at Sonya. Evidently it was the first time

that question had presented itself to her, and she did not know how to answer

it.

“What the reasons are, I don't know. But there must be reasons!”

Sonya sighed and shook her head distrustfully.

“If there were reasons…” she was beginning. But Natasha, divining her doubts,

interrupted her in dismay.

“Sonya, you mustn't doubt of him; you mustn't, you mustn't! Do you

understand?” she cried.

“Does he love you?”

“Does he love me?” repeated Natasha, with a smile of compassion for her

friend's dullness of comprehension. “Why, you have read his letter, haven't you?

You've seen him.”

“But if he is a dishonourable man?”

“He! … a dishonourable man? If only you knew!” said Natasha.

“If he is an honourable man, he ought either to explain his intentions, or to

give up seeing you; and if you won't do that, I will do it. I'll write to him.

I'll tell papa,” said Sonya resolutely.

“But I can't live without him!” cried Natasha.

“Natasha, I don't understand you. And what are you saying? Think of your

father, of Nikolenka.”

“I don't care for any one, I don't love any one but him. How dare you say

he's dishonourable! Don't you know that I love him?” cried Natasha. “Sonya, go

away; I don't want to quarrel with you; go away, for God's sake, go away; you

see how wretched I am,” cried Natasha angrily, in a voice of repressed

irritation and despair. Sonya burst into sobs and ran out of the room.

Natasha went to the table, and without a moment's reflection wrote that

answer to Princess Marya, which she had been unable to write all the morning. In

her letter she told Princess Marya briefly that all misunderstandings between

them were at an end, as taking advantage of the generosity of Prince Andrey, who

had at parting given her full liberty, she begged her to forget everything and

forgive if she had been in fault in any way, but she could not be his wife. It

all seemed to her so easy, so simple, and so clear at that moment.

The Rostovs were to return to the country on Friday, but on Wednesday the

count went with the intending purchaser to his estate near Moscow.

On the day the count left, Sonya and Natasha were invited to a big

dinner-party at Julie Karagin's, and Marya Dmitryevna took them. At that dinner

Natasha met Anatole again, and Sonya noticed that Natasha said something to him,

trying not to be overheard, and was all through the dinner more excited than

before. When they got home, Natasha was the first to enter upon the conversation

with Sonya that her friend was expecting.

“Well, Sonya, you said all sorts of silly things about him,” Natasha began in

a meek voice, the voice in which children speak when they want to be praised for

being good. “I have had it all out with him to-day.”

“Well, what did he say? Well? Come, what did he say? Natasha, I'm so glad

you're not angry with me. Tell me everything, all the truth. What did he

say?”

Natasha sank into thought.

“O Sonya, if you knew him as I do! He said … He asked me what promise I had

given Bolkonsky. He was so glad that I was free to refuse him.”

Sonya sighed dejectedly.

“But you haven't refused Bolkonsky, have you?” she said.

“Oh, perhaps I have refused him! Perhaps it's all at an end with Bolkonsky.

Why do you think so ill of me?”

“I don't think anything, only I don't understand this.…”

“Wait a little, Sonya, you will understand it all. You will see the sort of

man he is. Don't think ill of me, or of him.”

“I don't think ill of any one; I like every one and am sorry for every one.

But what am I to do?”

Sonya would not let herself be won over by the affectionate tone Natasha took

with her. The softer and the more ingratiating Natasha's face became, the more

serious and stern became the face of Sonya.

“Natasha,” she said, “you asked me not to speak to you, and I haven't spoken;

now you have begun yourself. Natasha, I don't trust him. Why this

secrecy?”

“Again, again!” interrupted Natasha.

“Natasha, I am afraid for you.”

“What is there to be afraid of?”

“I am afraid you will be ruined,” said Sonya resolutely, herself horrified at

what she was saying.

Natasha's face expressed anger again.

“Then I will be ruined, I will; I'll hasten to my ruin. It's not your

business. It's not you, but I, will suffer for it. Leave me alone, leave me

alone. I hate you!”

“Natasha!” Sonya appealed to her in dismay.

“I hate you, I hate you! And you're my enemy for ever!”

Natasha ran out of the room.

Natasha avoided Sonya and did not speak to her again. With the same

expression of agitated wonder and guilt she wandered about the rooms, taking up

first one occupation and then another, and throwing them aside again at

once.

Hard as it was for Sonya, she kept watch over her friend and never let her

out of her sight.

On the day before that fixed for the count's return, Sonya noticed that

Natasha sat all the morning at the drawing-room window, as though expecting

something, and that she made a sign to an officer who passed by, whom Sonya took

to be Anatole.

Sonya began watching her friend even more attentively, and she noticed that

all dinner-time and in the evening Natasha was in a strange and unnatural state,

unlike herself. She made irrelevant replies to questions asked her, began

sentences and did not finish them, and laughed at everything.

After tea Sonya saw the maid timidly waiting for her to pass at Natasha's

door. She let her go in, and listening at the door, found out that another

letter had been given her. And all at once it was clear to Sonya that Natasha

had some dreadful plan for that evening. Sonya knocked at her door. Natasha

would not let her in.

“She is going to run away with him!” thought Sonya. “She is capable of

anything. There was something particularly piteous and determined in her face

to-day. She cried as she said good-bye to uncle,” Sonya remembered. “Yes, it's

certain, she's going to run away with him; but what am I to do?” wondered Sonya,

recalling now all the signs that so clearly betokened some dreadful resolution

on Natasha's part. “The count is not here. What am I to do? Write to Kuragin,

demanding an explanation from him? But who is to make him answer? Write to

Pierre, as Prince Andrey asked me to do in case of trouble? … But perhaps she

really has refused Bolkonsky (she sent off a letter to Princess Marya

yesterday). Uncle is not here.”

To tell Marya Dmitryevna, who had such faith in Natasha, seemed to Sonya a

fearful step to take.

“But one way or another,” thought Sonya, standing in the dark corridor, “now

or never the time has come for me to show that I am mindful of all the benefits

I have received from their family and that I love Nikolay. No, if I have to go

three nights together without sleep; I won't leave this corridor, and I will

prevent her passing by force, and not let disgrace come upon their family,” she

thought.

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1. Ebooks list page : 83
2. War And Peace: Book 4 - CHAPTER V
3. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER III
4. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER II
5. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER I
6. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER IV
7. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIX
8. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XVI
9. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XV
10. War And Peace: Book 3 - CHAPTER XIV
11. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER V
12. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER VI
13. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIX
14. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XVI
15. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XIV
16. War And Peace: Book 2 - CHAPTER XV